


Bite Sized

by Smokeprincess



Category: Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:54:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27979914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smokeprincess/pseuds/Smokeprincess
Summary: A collection of the prompt requests / drabbles I've written on tumblr!
Relationships: Charles Foster Offdensen/Pickles the Drummer, Magnus Hammersmith/Toki Wartooth, Nathan Explosion/Pickles the Drummer, Pickles the Drummer/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	1. Index

A collection of drabbles from my tumblr @vodkaexplorer 

**Index:**

1\. Kiss Meme: **Magnus/Toki**

2\. Kiss Meme: **Charles/Pickles**

3\. Kiss Meme: **Nathan/Pickles**

4\. Ficlet Prompt: **Magnus/Toki**

5\. Ficlet Prompt: **Pickles/Reader**


	2. Hammertooth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kiss Prompt: Being Unable To Open Their Eyes For A Few Moments Afterward. Magnus / Toki

The tips of Magnus’ fingers pressed more weary folds into his eyelids as he attempted to ward exhaustion back. It slithered into the corners of his fuzzy consciousness, tempting him to turn to bed. 

“Sleepins?” A gently curious voice asked from behind him.

Looking back over his shoulder with a frown, he saw Toki standing a few feet from the doorway. “Not yet. I’ve got a few things to wrap up here. You go on ahead, buddy.”

“Stayins up all night ain'ts good for your health.”

Magnus snorted and turned back to his work. “That’s funny, because I think I remember that you stayed up all night playing that game. What was it again? Something with spaceships.”

He didn’t have to see the sulking look to know it was being made. Still, Magnus couldn’t help but smirk dryly to himself at the thought of Toki’s petulant pouting. 

"Wells, it’s different when it’s for somethins fun.”

Magnus heard Toki approaching, and allowed the settling of Toki’s hand against his upper back, rubbing subtle circles into the tension points near his spine. It felt good, and Magnus couldn’t help but sigh as his shoulders relaxed.

Toki began to dip in, to try and kiss Magnus on the cheek, but Magnus leaned back, jaw craning away as he put a firm hand over Toki’s bicep. He half heartedly attempted to push him away. “No, no Toki. I’m tired. I’m busy. I’m not up for distractions. The sooner I finish the sooner I sleep - didn’t you just say staying up is bad for my health?” 

“Unless you’re doing somethins fun!“ Toki used Magnus’ exposed neck to his advantage, one of his hands gently pushing the mane of curled hair back so he could lightly press a kiss to the junction that connected Magnus’ jaw and ear.

Magnus sighed again. This boy, always smelling of cinnamon hearts and summer grass. His Achilles heel.

Toki came around one side of the chair, and used his opposite hand to cup Magnus’ jaw tenderly.

Magnus’ eyes closed to a curtain of darkness. When Toki’s lips met his own, he was sure he heard the chime of a crystal bell, its ring like the drop of water into a clear pool. Toki’s intentions rippled from him and into Magnus, transforming him from the disgruntled, bent gargoyle over his desk and into something malleable. Mortal. Warming Magnus to life.

They kissed in silence, and Magnus found that his own arms were up and around Toki, a hand at the nape of the young man’s neck, his other cradling onoe of Toki’s firm triceps.

The two grown men were too large for the chair, but Toki stubbornly slipped his legs through each arm as he climbed onto Magnus’, his solid weight settling over Magnus’ lap. They touched and kissed and enjoyed each other, Magnus convinced out of his focused tasks and into Toki’s attentive lips.

When they stopped, Toki rested against him. His arms held Magnus loosely, and Magnus’ eyes remained closed as he steeped in Toki’s presence. They breathed together, and Magnus settled his cheek comfortable against Toki’s head as he stroked the young man’s back. In his mind’s eye, he saw open skies and rolling hills - he things that he saw in Toki.

The liminal limbo of his conscious, no longer awake, yet not quite asleep, Magnus fell into peace.


	3. Chickles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kiss prompt: Being Unable To Open Their Eyes For A Few Moments Afterward. Charles / Pickles

“It was a bad day.“ Charles said with as much sympathy he could muster for the triviality that had been brought before him. “We all have bad days.”

The way he said his platitude with such a matter-of-fact cadence grated on Pickles, upper lip curling in an angry sneer. “Oh, ‘we all have bad days’.” He mocked. “What do you - what would you know? You get to fuckin’….fuckin’…drink whiskey all day in here!”

“Well, it’s brandy, usually.” Charles corrected, and Pickles shouted out in frustration.

Charles was not an easy person to read. He kept his book close and closed, but when you spend so many hundreds of hours with anybody, you come to know their tells. In this case, Charles carried no tension in his shoulders or irritation between his brows. He leaned back in his seat, watching Pickles with those intelligent, dark eyes. While Pickles was deeply involved in the throes of his own self pity, he knew Charles well enough that he knew his manager was finding this all funny.

Irish blood boiling hot, Pickles stormed over to the desk and slammed his hands down. “You think this is cute?”

Charles’ brows lifted and he gave an amicable hum. “Mm,” he rolled his chair back so that he could stand. “You have a problem with me, now?” His voice ever even.

“Yeah I got a problem!!” Pickles barked, face reddened with anger.

“If you just want to keep yelling, by all means. Whatever helps the process.” Charles suggested as he came around the desk, keeping one of his hands on the top of it as he walked around it to Pickles, slowly. Like approaching a wild horse. “Might I suggest an alternative?”

Pickles narrowed his eyes, and Charles extended an open palm, coming to a stop just out of Pickles’ reach. The drummer would have to step closer to close their distance. An offer of trust. 

Like a fussy cat that couldn’t bear not to get the hidden treat cupped in its’ master’s palm, Pickles too couldn’t resist reaching out and try and grab onto the inviting hand. Charles slipped his hand up before Pickles’ could, and caught Pickles instead by the wrist, sharply tugging him forwards, into Charles. 

Pickles opened his mouth, about to say something as he was incensed by the trick - but before he had the chance to feel slighted, Charles covered Pickles parted mouth with his own. His arms came up and around Pickles’ back, holding him tenderly as Charles’ craned Pickles’ head back to deepen their act. Their eyes closed.

Pickles busied an angry hand in the back of Charles short, carefully kept hair, the other taking a tight hold to the back of his suit jacket. 

And they kissed. They didn’t move much, only peppering one another with inconsistently paced kisses. Some long, languid and sensual. Others short, fervent, and needy. For every complaint Pickles’ had coming into the office that day, Charles banished it away with his affections. 

Traded instead of words, their wordless conversation moved at the beat of their sweet kisses.

Charles was sure to make their last kiss last. The sympathy he lacked in sentences was made up in the empathy extended in the imprint of their lips on another.

When they finally broke, they continued to hold each other, seeking each other’s closest comforts. They put forehead to forehead. Locked together. Frustrations be damned. Pickles couldn’t imagine what it might look like to open his eyes again, now that he was lulled into a dreamy fishbowl by Charles. He breathed him in instead, breathed the office in. Felt what it was to relax his weight into Charles’ torso.

“I hope you’re feeling better,” Charles whispered. “But I’m sure I can always find some space to extend today’s meeting?”


	4. Nickles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kiss Prompt: It’s-the-end-of-the-world kiss. Nathan / Pickles

“So,” Pickles started, another pulsing rumble shaking the ground. Small crumbles of loose ceiling fell to the floor in dusty streams. 

“Yeah.” Nathan answered, cradling a green beer bottle between his hands.

“I guess Murderface won the ‘how-will-the-world-end’ pool.” Pickles tried to be a little funny, though the nerves taut in his voice betrayed him. 

“Guess so.” Nathan wasn’t feeling very good, either, stomach rolling. He had never wanted to live so long that he’d become a decrepit, gnarled old man sucking his food through tubes every morning, but he didn’t think he’d go out like this. 

Bitterly, it was still pretty metal. So that was alright.

A distant boom bellowed in the far distance, another trembling wave shaking Mordhaus. The sound of something large and fragile could be heard coming to a spectacular, crashing end in the next room.

He wasn’t prepared to die, but the apocalypse wasn’t about to put a pin in itself to give him the time to adjust.

“I think - I never had a bucket list, you know, but I think if I did, I could check a lot off.” Pickles mused. “Remember the mezcal tour we took in Oaxaca? ‘N you started to believe the power of the mezcal came from the scorpions? So you just started smashin’ the bottles and eatin’ them? That was pretty awesome.”

Nathan ‘mm’ed’ agreeably. “I guess we won’t be doing that together anymore.” 

“I guess we won’t be doing anything together, anymore.” Pickles added, and a dead silence echoed after.

The sentiment burrowed into an uncomfortable part of Nathan. They’d be dead soon, and there wasn’t any worth fretting over it. But, that today - perhaps right now - could be the last moments they’d spend together?

“Nathan?” 

Nathan looked back at Pickles. They shared each other’s gaze, unspeaking. Decades of growing together left little need for complicated, emotional words.

Then, at once, they crashed together. Nathan hooked a hand under Pickles’ rear, heaving him up as Pickles grabbed onto the back of Nathan’s shirt, arms around the lead’s neck. The beer bottle crashed to the floor, abandoned, as Nathan used his other arm to hold Pickles securely around his narrow hips.

Their lips met with no precision; desperation guiding them as they crammed their mouths against each other. Their teeth knocked awkwardly, and Nathan bit into Pickles lower lip hard enough to split it. Pickles’ groaned while Nathan’s palate flooded with the coppery wash of blood. Impassioned, Pickles hooked one hand around the back of Nathan’s head, keeping them close as they worked together. 

There may have been another, nearer explosion, but neither heard it. They were only affected through the violent vibration below their feet, stumbling back. Nathan’s strength held as they connected with a wall, and Pickles braced himself back against it. 

They were warm under each other’s touch; full of thriving life. Racing hearts and red blood. 

Nathan thought that he would be too dead to miss Pickles, but he would miss him anyway.

Building bastion’s with the graceless glide of their tongues and impacted, gasping breaths. The last of their breaths. They shared them, as they wouldn’t go alone, but terribly and infinitely together. They came into rhythm; musical instinct piecing its way through the wretched, despairing need of their animal horror.

It’d all be over soon, but not yet, and if it wasn’t yet, then,


	5. Hammertooth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ficlet Prompt || 6: Amusement park; F: The Jitters; ★: Shield. Magnus / Toki

“Hm,” Magnus focused his good eye before him. “This is the uh…Thundercoaster, you said?” 

“Yeah!!” Toki took a few enthusiastic steps toward the line, before pivoting to face Magnus with his arms spread. “Isn’t it fuckins awesome?” 

“It’s…very…”

“Badass?!” Toki suggested.

“Wooden.”

A wooden roller coaster. Magnus observed it uncertainly. “Norwegians know steel exists, right?” 

Magnus wasn’t weak-spined, but the rickety, grey struts visibly shuddered whenever the cars whipped across them. It hurt his teeth to watch. He imagined some damp, ill-kept scaffold somewhere in the network of beams rotting and splintering away. 

Waiting to split at any moment.

He knew the feeling, and the idea aggravated a deep anxiety within him.

Toki distracted him by slinging an arm around his shoulders and dragging him into the queue. “You isn’t scareds are you?” 

“Scared?” Insulted, Magnus scoffed. “You worry about yourself, buddy.”

Shrugging the comment off, Toki went on to yammer about Kokkosbolle and Krumkake and other Norwegian snacks that Magnus was largely unaware of, and uninterested in. Still, the sound of the young man’s voice was welcome.

Their wait wasn’t long, and soon they were let beyond the gate that separated the line from the ride. The front of the train was empty, and Toki took the opportunity to claim the best view. He waved for Magnus to follow as he slipped into the first car.

‘Just a big kid.’ Magnus thought to himself, letting some humour touch him beside the prickling unease as he climbed in beside.

Settling in, he asked Toki, “have you heard about the Euthanasia Coaster?” 

The ride attendant approached them on Magnus’ side. She asked them to lift their arms so that she could lower and lock the safety bar.

Toki stuck his arms up in the air. “Youth in Asia Coaster? What’s thats? Is its in Tokyo Disney?” When the bar was set, he gripped it excitedly, hunkering down the way a child might. 

“It’s a roller coaster designed to kill people.”

Toki turned his head a bit, brows scrunching together as he sat a little straighter in his seat. “Huh? How? Does they beheads’ya at the ends or somethins?” His gaze flitted upwards for a moment, lips parting as though considering the imagery. “That’s brutal.” 

Magnus frowned as he imagined a post-roller-coaster photo of he and Toki, headless. Perhaps accompanied by other anonymous rider goers, gushing blood from their neck-holes like fountains. Maybe a tacky park logo would be stamped at the bottom. Yikes. 

“No,” he cleared his throat, his own fingers tapping at the bar with nervous energy as the roller coaster rolled back by hardly an inch with a heavy clunk, ready to begin the climb. “Hey,” Magnus barked, distracted by the lurch. He turned in his seat like a dog ready to bite, gripping the side of the car as he searched for the attendant. “What was that? I didn’t hear her say we were starting-” 

“Relax,” Toki complained, though his voice was clear of annoyance. He gave Magnus’ shoulder a firm pat before letting his heavy hand linger there. The grounding pressure settled Magnus back against the seat. “Whats was you saying?” 

The coaster began to crawl forward, and Magnus, always hyper-focused, always thinking - Always overthinking, Toki believed - kept his eyes straight ahead. His long fingers curled around the bar, pale knuckles stretching bone-white. “Er…cerebral hypoxia.” 

“Huh?”

“Your brain - it doesn’t get enough oxygen. Sorta like suffocation. It’s apparently a relaxing way to go.” 

He could use some relaxing. It sounded cooler when he was going to explain it to Toki in his head, but at the moment, Magnus couldn’t help but wonder about wood rot, and the sound of cracking joists, and-

“Wells, this won’t be that,” Toki laughed. “Maybes some people might gets a heart attack or somethin’ if they’re olds…” Glancing at Magnus again, Toki looked over him with appraising, narrow eyes. “Whens the last time you hads a check up, anyway?” 

Magnus felt his eyes roll so hard in their sockets that it almost strained his good vision. “You have some nerve to suggest I’m old when I’m not the one who churned butter as a child.” 

“Yous gots a lot to say for someone who forgets his Friendsbook passwords every month.” 

“Because I don’t log on. I don’t have friends.” Magnus’ retorted, and when he looked away from Toki, he realized they were at the top of the first incline, peering down the dramatic slope. His breath caught in his throat. Toki’s hand took its place over one of Magnus’, and Magnus looked back.

Toki met him with a brazen smile. “That isn’t true. You gots me, dont you?” 

If Magnus could hit pause on time, at any moment, now would be a good one. 

Not only to escape the unpleasant descent, but to capture the weightless comfort that smile could give him-

But he couldn’t, and they dropped. 

Magnus’ breath was stripped from his lungs but as the cars bent and creaked along the pine rails.

It wasn’t frightening at all. No loops, no thousand foot peaks.

As they swooped, Toki put his free hand up in the air, laughing along to the screaming of strangers behind them. 

Magnus flinched each time the ducked below a set of tracks, but his fears were quelled as the roller coaster continued not to crumble below them. His grip on the safety bar eased, but he did nothing to move his hand out from under Toki’s.

Magnus didn’t need protecting. Didn’t need ‘big strong arms’ to keep him warm and safe at night. Didn’t need people to fight for his name, or his cause. He’d been carved of iron, he thought. Strong as steel. Unyielding.

Yet, the gentle cushion of Toki’s distractions shielded Magnus from the paranoid, delusive imaginings of his own mind.

Gave him a place to land. A place in reality. 

Climbing a third hill, Magnus took in the rolling view of forests and mountain ranges beyond the park fence, Toki’s laughter in his ears. 

If he could hit pause on time, at any moment, now would be a good one.


	6. Pickles/Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ficlet Prompt | 4: Lake, F: The Jitters, ✖: Rubber Duck. Pickles / Reader

“This isn’t isn’t what a I pictured when you said we should spend time on the lake,” you commented, watching Pickles attempt to haul an old swan boat out from the reedy grave it had been shallowly wading in for who knew how long. 

The lake backed up onto the lot of an abandoned theme park. Most of the park had been deconstructed and hauled away decades ago, but little ghosts such as the swan boat still lingered in forgotten pockets of wilderness.

Pickles had found it first, evidently, and invited you along to haul the thing out. “C’mon dude, it’s gonna be great! We just gotta get this out- hey, get on the other side in the water, and push it, would you?” 

“Why don’t you stand in the water, and I’ll take the side you’re on now,” you suggested instead with a smirk. 

Pickles huffed and put his hands up, allowing the boat to slide back into its murky hole. “Alright, but only ‘cause I’m such a gentleman.” 

Rolling your eyes good-naturedly, you took your place where he had been standing as Pickles began to hike his jeans up over his knobby knees to save them from getting too wet.

He left his sneakers on, however.

“So, what were you picturing when I said we should hang on the lake?” Pickles asked, his voice light and teasing. “The yacht?” 

“I don’t know. I thought we’d have a kayak or some inflatables or something.” You grabbed one of the wings of the swan awkwardly, your other finding a spot to grip about the bottom of its neck. “Like a big rubber duck.” 

“Phht,” Pickles retorted, blowing the air between his lips as he stepped into the shallow waters. The cattail stalks bent under his intrusion, and he hooked his fingers somewhere near the bottom of the body. “This is cooler than that. Or at least, you know.”

“I don’t know. ‘At least’ what?” You asked.

“More romantic.” He muttered. “Or somethin’.”

You didn’t know what was so romantic about fighting a dingy swan boat out of the cold mud, but you still smiled as he said it. The idea that he had thought of you when he had seen the thing was sweet in its own right. As he put his hands up against one side, you held onto your end, and together you began to rock it free to set it out onto the lake. 

“It’s only good if it’s sea worthy,” you mentioned.

“Sea worthy?” He laughed. “We’re not going across the Atlantic.” 

“Well, I still don’t want to drown at the bottom of a lake, either.” 

“Why not? It’s a pretty sick place to drown.” Pickles looked over his shoulder at the stretch of still water behind him. A cold fog was gliding over its surface, obscuring the opposite shore. Clusters of thin, leafless trees huddled together in lonely groups around you. “And all this place is missing is a corpse at the bottom.” 

“Yeah, well, better yours than mine,” you retorted. “Besides, how do you know there isn’t a dead body somewhere in there already?” 

“Good point.”

Once the boat lurched free, Pickles led it further into the water and took a moment to check it over. He peered over the edge inside to see if it was too far gone to float. “Checks out.” he gave it a sturdy slap on the side. 

Looking at it out of the reeds, the paint was all but a memory. It might have been blue once, but was stripped down to a dingy gray over the worn plastic. The wing on Pickles end was missing one of its feathers, snapped off at the base, and where once were eyes lay empty holes. 

“Romantic, huh?” You asked, skeptically. “Why is is leaning like that?” 

“Well, it’s kinda taking on some water on the right side there, but I don’t think it’ll sink it.” 

You gave him an incredulous look. “You said it checked out!!” 

“Yeah, an’ I just said it’s not gonna sink-”

“You said you think it won’t sink.” You interjected. 

Pickles smirked back at you as he moved further into the water with the swan. “C’mon dude. Don’t wuss out.” 

You gave your best mock frown. “It’s not very romantic to call your date a wuss.” 

Shrugging, he began to climb into the boat. “I didn’t call you a wuss, I told you not to wuss out.” Grabbing the neck he hauled himself up into it. “Whoa-!” It rocked dangerously, tipping to the right, but it didn’t roll. Pickles held onto the seat to catch his balance before the boat resettled.

“Hey! look at that, not sunk! Who’da knew?” He turned back to you. “Your turn!’

“Yeah, uh, I don’t know about that.” You added uncertainly, sure that the boat sunk a few inches further into the water with Pickles’ added weight. You shuffled nervously on shore. It wasn’t like you thought the lake was the most dangerous place to be, but the stability of the boat didn’t fill you with confidence. 

“It’s alright, look,” Pickles unsteadily stood in the boat, putting his foot up on the left side, tipping it towards you. He placed on hand on the head of the swan and extended his other out to you. “Just take my hand and I’ll help you in.” 

You snorted, though you started to roll up your own pants the same as he had, having some mind to at least take your socks off so save them a soggy future, tucking them away in your coat. “Yeah, and next thing you know it’ll be me and your skinny ass in the lake.”

Uncertainly stepping into the shallows, your shoes flooded with cold, gritty water. Shivering, you waded close enough to Pickles that you could put your hand out to take his. “Don’t let go,” you asked, more than stated, your voice teetering with some mild anxiety. 

“I won’t,” he reassured, a lean of affectionate amusement in his voice. you grabbed onto his hand, and with a deceptive strength, Pickles hauled you over. You were able to get your foot up onto the foot-rail, and he helped you get your other leg over, and then you were both in. 

The boat swayed with your combined weights, sloshing water over the sides and into the seats. It retained its tilt, a little more dramatically now, but remained above the surface. Pickles put his feet on the peddles, water up to his ankles. 

Wobbling into your own seat, you couldn’t tell if the boat was taking more water on or not, but you mirrored Pickles. “You know, if you wanted to take me on some romantic paddle-boat ride, I think they have completely functional ones at six flags.” 

“But then we wouldn’t really be alone. I wanted to spend some time with you, without someone’s farm of children screaming around.” You looked to him, feeling touched by the sentiment, and he awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. “Though, maybe I could’ve brought a…inflatable raft or something.” 

“No,” you put a hand over his wrist, your thumb brushing his knuckles. “No, you were right.” You smiled again as he relaxed. “This is much cooler.”


End file.
